


everything you're breathing for will let you down and leave you sore

by Analyse (D_Willims)



Series: it'll still be two days till we say we're sorry [9]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Allison Does Too Much Of The Emotional Labor In This Family, Also Me? Crying About Allison Touching Diego's Shoulder As Comfort?, Always, But She's Inspiring Diego To Step Up, Gen, I Heard A Rumor There's No Incest, It's So Underrated, She's Still Doing A Lot Here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 01:45:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Willims/pseuds/Analyse
Summary: No one chooses Diego first. Until Allison does.





	everything you're breathing for will let you down and leave you sore

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from "Everything You're Breathing For" by The Parlour Mob.
> 
> Series title from "One Week" by the Bare Naked Ladies.

Allison hesitates in the doorway. Bounces slightly up onto her bare down. It’s a strange look on her. Hesitation. So far from her usual poise and grace. Confidence. She has to be confidence with her powers, Diego thinks. Because the self-doubt will cripple her.

It’s really biting her on the ass now. Luther can’t leave the house without a mission. Klaus falls apart over and over and over. And he…

He’s choking on his own pride. Clumsily rebandaging a bullet wound with fumbling fingers. It’s at an awkward angle to reach on his own. But he has no one. Besides, he’s no stranger to ugly scars.

Soft fingers press against his good shoulder. And then Allison is taking the alcohol wipe from his fingers. The bed dips under her weight as she kneels next to him.

Up until now Diego didn’t really believe Allison was a _mom_. Klaus had collected all the tabloids that mentioned her pregnancy and Claire. Recounted every detail breathlessly in between rehab stints. But Diego never believed it. Allison is nothing like Grace. She’s manipulative and capricious. Arrogant. Selfish.

She’s so soft and gentle, now. Cleaning his bullet wound with intense care. Silent.

He might never hear her voice again.

The sadness is sudden. It takes him by surprise and overwhelms him. There’s a pressure building behind his eyes. He keeps his head turned away from her.  She finishes taping gauze over his shoulder. Moves to pull away. And he catches her by the wrist, holds her in place. Palm against his chest.

Eventually, he tilts his head to meet her gaze. She stares back at him. There’s so much concern in her eyes it takes his breath away. _Breathe_.

“I’m fuh-“ _Think about the word._ “Fine.”

Allison doesn’t look convinced. She nods anyway.

“You should re-rest.” He presses his thumb to the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. Feels inexpertly for her pulse. It seems too weak to him, but steady enough. Still terrifying. Air catches in his lungs and burns. _You’re spinning out. Don’t stop breathing_. Softly, almost too soft for her to hear, he whispers, “Stay.”

She nods and slides her arm in his grip. Until their hands are palm-to-palm. Gently, she threads their fingers together, squeezes his hand. It’s only a moment but he feels so cold when she lets go. When she scoots down to the end of his bed and leans against the wall. So she’s closer to her room, he realizes with a jolt. Closer to Vanya.

Because she didn’t come here for him.

And that’s comforting in a way. That the ranks haven’t suddenly changed on him, the world hasn’t flipped. It just ended and then it didn’t. He still remembers the flames, the shockwave that split second before Five shifted time out from under them.

Slowly, Diego stands. Cradles his injured arm to his chest. He extracts the blanket from his bed with all the care of disarming a bomb. Doesn’t look at Allison as he wraps her around her shoulder. Even turned away he can feel her head tilt. The questioning raise of her eyebrow.

“You lo-lost a lot of blu-blood,” he explains. The pressure keeps building behind his eyes. His head aches with it. _There’s no need for crying_. For a moment, his inner voice sounds so much like Dad.

A small huff of air escapes her lips. He knows that huff of air. It’s the one that she always used growing up when one of their brothers was being particularly stupid.

It hurts. He’s not expecting it to hurt like this. A few tears manage to eke out but he violently wipes them away. _Stop crying_. His head throbs. “It’s not fuh-funny, A-alli-allison,” he snaps. Angry. Defensive. Back against the wall. “Juh-just let me…”

_You almost died. Let me do this one thing_. The words won’t come out right.

Her hand knocks against his hip. She has the blanket stretched out. Arm out. Space for him, he realizes. _You, too_ , she mouths at him. There’s still that gentle neutralness to her face. For once she’s not rising to the challenge.

_You, too_. You lost blood, too. You need rest, too. Just let me take care of you, too. I love you, too.

For once, she wasn’t picking the fight right back.

Angrily, he stalks over to his closet. Pulls an extra blanket down from the top shelf of his closet. Mom had put a little sachet in there to keep it fresh. It falls to floor. His head throbs again when it crashes on the floor.

He sits back on the bed, next to her. Close but not too close. Defiantly, he wraps himself up in a separate blanket. Ignores the space she’s offered him. And there’s a hint of a smile on her lips, a warm twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Fleeting but it was there.

She reaches out and takes his hand in hers. He lets her.

\--

Diego doesn’t know he’s asleep until he wakes suddenly. Sharply. One moment sound asleep; the next horrifyingly aware. Too aware. He’s trained himself to stop. Take a breath. Quell the panic. Take stock of his aches and pains. _Wait. Breathe. Don’t push yourself; don’t rip stitches._ Because he’s alone. Always alone.

Not alone.

There’s a strong arm wound around his waist. A palm flat against his stomach, rising and falling with each of his breaths. _Keep breathing._

For a moment, just a moment, he’s twenty-two again. Freshly thrown out of the police academy. Beaten black and blue and bloody. Shivering even under a pile of blankets. Because the heat never worked in Eudora’s old studio apartment. He doesn’t remember actually being cold though. There was always this warmth around her. Especially when she crawls into bed behind him. Cradles him against her chest. Presses soft kisses against the back of his neck.

When he wakes trembling and sobbing, she says nothing. Just holds him tight.

It’s not Eudora. And it’s never going to be Eudora again. _Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe._ He jolts upright and a sob escapes his lips. _Just breathe._ The bullet wound in his shoulder throbs, stings. Fresh again. He can feel the stitches strain but they don’t pop. _You’re alone and you can’t be reckless._

A hand presses against his chest. His gaze follows the line of it. From the perfectly manicured nails to the faded scar that encircles his sister’s bicep. He can’t breathe. Thirteen years later, and he still panics. It’s like coming around that corner every time. Like slipping in that puddle of blood every time.

_Everyone I cared about is dead_. He repeats it until he believes it. But she’s there and he curls his fingers around his hand on his chest.

His chest aches. _Breathe goddamnit._

And he isn’t like Klaus or Luther or Vanya. Weak and needy and desperate. Clinging to Allison like a sniveling brat until she suffocates. Until she walks away and never looks back. Abandons them. Cuts them off like her arm.

But he leans into her when she rests her hand against the back of his neck. Draws him forward. Until he presses his face into the hollow of her collar bone.

_Breathe._ She smells like blood and medical tape and soap and that soft fruity-spicy perfume she’s always liked. Her thick curls are still slightly damp. They stick to his forehead and cheeks. And he sobs into her skin. Wheezy and shallow. He can’t breathe.

The house seems to shudder with each one of his breaths. Walls shake. Windows rattle. There’s a wild moment where he thinks it’s him.

_Hold your breath. Count to ten. Twenty. Fifty. One hundred. Feel the air. Change the blade’s direction._

It’s Vanya.

Vanya panics and the whole world comes apart at the seams. Diego can’t move. Can’t breathe. Struggles for words, for actions. But Allison crashes into the bathtub. Holds Vanya tight and brings her back to them. Again. And again and again and again.

She’ll need to get up now, to go to Vanya. To bring her back to them. But she doesn’t let go. Her hand stays firmly curled around the nape of his neck. Holds him in place. Rocks slightly as she cradles him.

Allison chose him.

Diego’s startled. Broken in ways that he hadn’t quite expected. No one’s every chosen him. He knows he’s easy to prioritize last. Because of his temper. Or because he works better alone. The ways he walls himself up and doesn’t talk. Hides behind a mask, behind knives, behind angry words, behind impulsive words, behind the boiler room of the gym.

But there’s hesitation in Allison. Now and then. With the sirens in the background and the red light playing on her face. Vanya’s in danger and Diego’s thoughtlessness got him in this situation. Allison doesn’t leave. Doesn’t make the obvious choice. He has to make it for her. Push her away, in the opposite direction.

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Allison says before she leaves. Pats his shoulder. Lets her hand linger for a beat too long before letting it slide down his arm and off his elbow. She chose him. And not Vanya. It’s the last thing she ever said to him.

Slowly, Diego brings his good arm up to wrap around Allison. Holds her tightly. Desperately. For a beat, two.

The house shudders again.

He pulls back and looks at his sister. Really looks at her. Pale and trembling. She’d lost so much blood. They’d almost lost her. The bandage is a stark white against her throat. Clean. But he remembers the blood spilled all down her chest. There’s still a defiance in her eyes, though. Daring anyone to start a fight.

“I’ll gah-go,” he stammers. Trips over the simplest of words. He’s terrified. Of **Vanya** of all people. And he’s still hurt and angry. And filed with this sort of sadness he can’t explain.

Allison tilts her head.

Diego ignores the implied question and instead stands. Tugs his blanket back up over her shoulders. Wraps it tight around her. _Breathe_. A moment of hesitation and then he brushes the lightest of kisses across the top of his sister’s head. Barely there.

She chose him.

He’s choosing her.

“Rest.” He feels more certain in his decision. The stammer’s gone. “I’ll make sure Vanya’s okay.”


End file.
